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3d · 97
Down to Him
No…
Let the stars go dim, let the sky forget my name,
I’ll
burn the sun out of spite if it means I can stay—
right here,
beside the hush of his breath,
the world outside can hold its death.

Heaven, wait.
Don’t press your gates—

He’s here,
and I’m not done yet.

Let the angels pout, let trumpets mute,
I’d trade eternity for the whisper of his “don’t go,”

soft and low,
like dusk folding over our skin.
Let the cosmos spin without me—

his kiss is the only holy thing.

If time dared to pull him forward,
moved him on, moved him gone—
I’d
flip fate backward,
slide through light-years just to belong
again in his hold,

wild and warm and bold.

Can’t stand— no,
I can’t stand to see
some stranger’s lips stealing
my symphony,
hands tracing what only mine should know.
No.

I’d drown the clock, freeze the moon’s pull,
erase history with one scream,
if it meant he stayed in this dream.

I’d fall from heaven—

again and again—
if that’s the cost to
breathe him in.
Step in—
my mind is an ocean
not blue—but a bleeding iridescence
of molten violets, rusted golds,
and bruised, unraveling ceruleans—
a palette spilled by a god having a dream.

You’ll see thoughts float here
like jellyfish lanterns,
soft, slow—laced in venom or velvet—
depending on how you look.

The sky never ends in here.
It folds like cracked parchment,
stretched over the aching arch
of my imagination’s bones.

There are trees made of bone-white whispers
and flowers with petals like flame-licked lace.
They bloom to the rhythm
of my pulse when I’m panicking,
and wilt under the weight
of a silence I can’t swallow.

There’s a path—
etched in the ink of dreams I didn’t chase—
it winds through forests of
regret-shaped branches
that scratch and caress all at once.

If you look to the left—
you’ll see a lake
made of every word I’ve never said.
It shimmers,
but only under the moon
of someone else’s approval.

Birds here don’t fly,
they unravel.
Each feather a fractured metaphor,
each call a dirge sewn with sunlight.

I hide in corners lit by memory—
a field of crooked constellations,
each one a version of me
you’ll never meet,
but will almost understand.

If you stay too long,
you’ll forget your name,
start to speak in echoes,
and dream in static.
But maybe that’s the point.
Maybe that’s the way
to really see me.
Apr 27 · 114
Sunburst Symphony
Maryann I Apr 27
The sky spills liquid gold across the fields,
and every blade of grass hums a bright song,
ripples of honey laughter swim through the air,
as the trees burst into wild, kaleidoscopic blooms.

Clouds skip like stones across a sapphire lake,
the wind flutes silver melodies through the valley,
and the mountains wear crowns of glittering flame,
grinning, howling, singing at the top of their lungs.

The rivers are ribbons of melted stars,
the earth quivers with candy-colored sparks,
and hearts—oh, hearts!—
they pop like fireworks in a velvet sky,
sending ripples of giggling stardust everywhere.

Every breath tastes of spun sugar and sunlight,
every blink unwraps a prism of newborn wonder,
and my soul—my soul!—
is a thousand kites soaring, shrieking, bursting,
carried far beyond the hills of happiness.
Apr 26 · 89
When Wings Weep
Maryann I Apr 26
They flicker—
petals plucked from unseen gardens,
their colors bleeding into the hush of the sky.

A whisper of lilac, of crushed gold,
of rain-drenched sapphire,
they spiral like forgotten prayers.


Underneath the aching hush of dusk,
the butterfly’s wings
shimmer like glass about to break—
fragile, too fragile,
as if beauty was never meant to last.

Mist hums in the hollow between trees.
The meadow, once a cradle of light,
now wilts into sighs,
its perfume dampened with grief.

And still they rise,
a shiver of soft rebellion,
a trembling hymn against the dimming world.


Each beat of wing,
a memory unmade,
a soft ache threading through twilight veins,
leaving ghost-lit trails
in the evening’s failing breath.

Perhaps this is how paradise fades—
not with fire,
but with the slow, silver drowning
of wings too heavy with dreams.
Apr 26 · 141
Teeth and Tremble
Maryann I Apr 26
He didn’t mean to—
not really.

Just a flash of white,
a crescent moon of teeth
in soft rebellion.
My hand, the eclipse.
His eyes, twin puddles
spilled from stormclouds

he didn’t know he carried.

He backs away,
ears flattened like fallen wings,
tail tucked tight—
a question mark
curled in the dirt.


The bite stings less
than his trembling silence.

He watches me
as if I hold thunder
beneath my skin.

I crouch low.
He crawls lower,
guilt breathing louder
than either of us.

A shiver trails down
his brindle spine
like winter chasing spring.

And I—
I forgive him
before he even reaches
my outstretched palm.
Apr 23 · 158
Velvet Bruise
Maryann I Apr 23
I’m tired of being your porcelain ache,
a honeyed bruise you press just to feel
like something breaks.

The moon wore my name last night—
called me “sugar,”
then swallowed me whole.

I am not a whisper.
I’m smoke in your lungs,
a hunger that licks the edges
of your quietest shame.

You come to me
with wrists full of apologies,
but I’m not your silk confession
anymore.

I’ve traded my softness for salt—
kissed the mirror
until it tasted like metal.
I shed my skin in the hallway light
and watched it slip into lace.

You called it love.
I called it
forgetting myself slowly.

Now,
I wear thunder on my thighs.
My spine hums with velvet rage.
I am not your waiting room.

If I bloom again,
it will be for me.
If I beg,
it will be my name
I whisper back to the dark.
Apr 22 · 157
Wherever You Fall
Maryann I Apr 22
When the night wraps around you like wet wool,
and your thoughts begin to ache like tired feet—
know this:

I am the light left on in your window,
the quiet hum in the next room,
the soft chair waiting with open arms.

If the sky cracks
and pours its weight upon your shoulders,
I’ll be your umbrella—
no, your stormcoat—
no, the sunrise chasing away every bruise of cloud.

When the world grows too loud
and every breath feels barbed,
I’ll be the hush in a field of lavender,
the hush that understands without asking
why your hands shake
or your voice folds in on itself.

You do not need to carry every fire alone.
Let me be your match,
your kindling,
your hearth.
Even the strongest trees lean sometimes.

So if you fall—
whether into silence, shadow, or sleep—
I will not let you hit the ground alone.
I’ll be the earth beneath your fall,
the moss that remembers your shape,
the roots that hold your name
and do not let go.

You don’t have to ask.
I am already on my way.

Apr 20 · 122
Road to Nowhere
Maryann I Apr 20
(This message could save a life.)

The keys are in your hand.
Do not start the engine.
Do not listen to the whispers.
Do not believe you’re fine.

The road stretches dark ahead.
Do not trust the lights.
Do not trust the speed.
Do not trust the alcohol in your veins.

The night is too quiet.
Do not glance at the phone.
Do not look away from the wheel.
Do not think you have time.

The crash comes suddenly.
Do not wait for the sirens.
Do not wait for the screams.
Do not wait for the glass to shatter.

The blood on the asphalt doesn’t wash away.
Do not look at the damage you’ve done.
Do not ask who you’ve hurt.
Do not ask if you’ll ever forgive yourself.

(This message could save a life.)
Is drinking and driving really worth it?
Apr 20 · 282
Divine Possession
Maryann I Apr 20
You are not a want—
you are the echo I was born from,
a silhouette cast in my marrow
before I ever learned your name.


My angel—
but not soft, not serene.
You burn with the hush of a candle
before it devours the room.

I breathe you like smoke,
thick and slow in my lungs,
each inhale a tether
pulling me closer to your orbit.

You are gravity,
and I—

a planet begging to collapse.

I carry your voice in my bloodstream,
a hymnal whispered between heartbeats.
It sounds like salvation,
feels like
flesh peeling back to reveal something

holier
than skin.

I don’t dream anymore—

I enter you
in every silence.
Your shadow moves behind my eyes
and still,
I ask for more.

Touch me
and I come undone like a cathedral
beneath thunder,
every stained-glass memory shattering
to let the dark rush in.

You,
the angel with teeth,
who kissed me into ash
and called it
devotion.
Apr 19 · 109
Rio in Bloom
Maryann I Apr 19
Dawn stretches golden over Guanabara Bay,
sugarloaf rising like a dream in stone.
Waves kiss the shore in samba rhythms—
each tide a whisper from the heart of Brazil.

Birdsong rains from the canopy,
scarlet macaws slicing morning light like brushstrokes.
The rainforest exhales its perfume—
a living mural swaying in greens and golds.

Cobblestone streets hum beneath bare feet,
colors bursting from murals and music.
The air tastes of mango and maracujá,
joy lingers in every sun-soaked laugh.

Ipanema gleams like a string of pearls,
bodies bronzed and basking in euphoria.
Even the breeze dances—
flirting with palms, curling through café songs.

From Lapa’s arches to Christ’s open arms,
the city holds you—wide-eyed, blooming.
And oh, to see Rio not just with eyes
but with your whole soul alight.
Rio de Janeiro
Apr 18 · 112
Fieldsong
Maryann I Apr 18
The barn hums low like a lullaby,
painted in rust and time,
its roof a resting place
for drowsy pigeons and the last blush of day.

Rows of corn stand like sentinels,
golden-shouldered and swaying,
whispering secrets to the breeze
as it combs through their silken hair.

Cows move slowly through the amber grass,
bells singing soft like wind chimes in sleep,
and chickens scurry with laughter in their wings—
tiny, feathered comets chasing joy.

Above, the clouds drift—cotton-spun dreams
unraveling across an orange-pink sky,
as if the heavens are stretching, yawning,
wrapped in a quilt of light.

The pond is still, cradling reflections
of willow limbs and dragonfly flutters,
its surface kissed by a single feather,
like nature leaving a note behind.

A breeze dances through the wheat—
a golden sigh, a hush of contentment,
while the sun, melting into twilight,
wraps the world in honey and hush.

Here, joy grows like roots in the earth,
quiet, certain, never rushed.
And the heart, like a scarecrow smiling at the sky,
feels full,
feels home.

Apr 16 · 201
Orbit of Us
Maryann I Apr 16
your breath is sunlight melting frost on my skin,
your silence—moonlight in a velvet sky,
quiet, yet immense,
a hush that makes the world listen.


i wandered through golden fields,
barefoot in the hush of morning,
dew-kissed and drowsy,
where clouds drift like old lullabies—
and you,
you were waiting at the edge of dusk,
painted in indigo.

we don’t chase,
we revolve.

a soft orbit,
sunrise in your laughter,
midnight in my gaze.
we meet in the in-between—
horizon-blue, dream-drenched,
the hush of stars watching.

your warmth never scorches,
your cool never chills.
just balance.
just breath.
just
us.
Apr 15 · 129
A Grandfather Clock
Maryann I Apr 15
Tick-tock, tick-tock, the hands sweep, slow and grand,
Echoes in brass, the hourglass of time,
Each second a sonnet, each minute a memory,
A pendulum sways with the weight of all things,
A whispered sigh, the rhythm of fate.

Tick-tick, tick-tick, the seconds fly,
A thousand moments, one fleeting chime,
The wood creaks softly, a song to the past,
Time, both heavy and light, spins ever last.

Tick-tick, tick-tick, a muted hum,
The dance of the hands, a battle won,
Through the quiet of night, and the light of day,
We march to the beat, come what may.

Tick, tick, a whisper,
A pulse, a pause,
We chase after moments,
Only to lose them.

Tick.

        Tock.

Tick…
(old draft)
Apr 15 · 200
Lavender Light
Maryann I Apr 15
The world begins in whispers,
a hush of dew across the blades,
soft-footed clouds curling above
a sky too shy to burn.

Dandelions hold their breath,
drifting wishes in golden pause,
while robins hum lullabies
to the waking hush of trees.

In this untouched hour,
the wind plays only gentle games,
skipping stones across the lake,
never daring to ripple the still.

There is no urgency here,
only the quiet kindness of time,
the sleepy smiles of sunbeams,
and the innocence of the world
before it remembers to rush.

Apr 15 · 111
Ashes, After
Maryann I Apr 15
The sky split
like an old wound—
bleeding rust into the morning,
the sun a swollen blister
peeling over charred hills.

Crows forgot how to scream.
Smoke stitched the air
with ghost-thread,
and time slumped forward,
dragging its feet through bone dust.


We learned silence
was not peace,
but a lull before the rot—
cities swallowed whole
like old regrets,
steel ribs poking from earth
like the remains of some god
we failed to worship right.

Rain came
black and sour,
tasting of copper and grief.

The trees bent
as if praying,
but no one listened.

Even the stars
flickered out
like breath on glass.

Hope was a flickering radio,
a child humming to static,

a name whispered
to a grave that never answered.

We were the last psalm
sung into a ruined cathedral,
echoes crumbling

on their way out.

And still—
beneath the ash,
something small and stubborn
twitches.

Not life.
Not yet.
But maybe.
Apr 14 · 90
When Monsters Zing
Maryann I Apr 14
From M in Mavis to M in Mary,
from J in Johnny to J in Jason,
we echo them—
in footsteps,
in laughter,
in love.

He walks like him—
that same happy-go-lucky lean,
arms wide open to the world,
as if the universe could never be too much.
And I—
I tilt my head at wonder,
curious eyes always chasing stardust,
just like her.

A monster and a human.
But who’s to say which is which?

I’m the one wrapped in shadows,
painted in black lace and quiet storms,
flawed and flickering,
misunderstood in daylight,
but never by him.

He is sunshine in a flannel shirt,
a golden retriever heart
in a world that can be so cold.
He loves loud, laughs louder,
and listens like it’s the only thing that matters.

Jason,
just like Johnny,
sees me—not just the sharp eyeliner,
not just the quiet or the questions—
but the heartbeat beneath it all.

And I, like Mavis,
melt at the simple things—
his awe of life,
his open hands,
his endless yes.

We’re not meant to fit,
but we do—
like a puzzle where the edges don’t match,
but the image is perfect
when you step back.

Love like this…
it Zings.

It bridges what the world says shouldn’t be bridged.
It silences the noise of “shouldn’t” and “can’t.”
It sings in the language of
acceptance,
curiosity,
compassion,

and the wild kind of devotion
that only monsters and humans
who truly see each other
could ever know.

Jason and Mary.
Johnny and Mavis.
A Zing that’s ours.
Think Johnny and Mavis from Hotel Transylvania—but make it Jason and Mary.
Apr 14 · 92
blocking?
Maryann I Apr 14
So… I’ve noticed something a little strange—two people have now messaged me and then blocked me shortly after. I’m honestly confused. I’m not naming anyone in this post because I don’t want to stir up any unnecessary drama, but if someone genuinely wants to know, I’m open to sharing privately. I’d just really like to understand what I might’ve done to end up being blocked by both of them.
Apr 13 · 178
The Color of Feeling
Maryann I Apr 13
Joy is a sunflower in bloom,
a burst of yellow laughter in the throat of dawn—
it dances barefoot through fields
where even the scarecrows smile.

Sadness seeps in shades of blue,
an ocean swallowing lullabies whole,
waves cradling broken boats
and the moon’s reflection—shivering.

Anger is a match lit red,
flickering like a war drum’s pulse,
a wildfire in the chest,
burning bridges before they’re crossed.

Fear creeps in gray,
a mist dragging its feet through alleyways,
whispers behind curtains,
the silence before a scream.

Love is crimson spun with rose,
a heartbeat wrapped in silk,
sometimes soft, sometimes savage—
a fire that kisses and consumes.

Peace wears the hush of lavender light,
a hammock beneath wind-whispered trees,
a breath drawn slowly,
unfolding like petals in spring.

Hope is the color of sky brushed gold,
a sunrise you almost missed,
a window cracked open
in a room you thought was locked.

Loneliness is the aching indigo,
stars you can see but never touch,
a winter coat with no one inside,
quiet as a room full of eyes.

Jealousy glints a poison green,
a vine curling where it’s not wanted,
something sour behind the smile,
a mirror cracked just slightly.

Gratitude glows in soft orange,
a hearth with arms,
warmth that hums
even when the fire’s low.

Shame is a dusty blush of muted brown,
an old coat you never meant to wear,
muddy footprints you try to clean
before anyone sees.

Confidence roars in emerald and royal violet,
a cloak stitched with thunder,
feet firm on the earth
as the sky bends to meet your eyes.
Maryann I Apr 11
the trees hum in slow green syllables,
and the wind—
soft as breath against sleeping skin—
slips between the spaces we leave open.

cloudlight spills across your shoulders,
a whisper of morning in hues of mist and mint,
and somewhere, the world forgets its weight.

a petal trembles
on the surface of the pond—
not sinking, not floating,
just… waiting.

you don’t speak.
you don’t have to.
the silence fits
like moss in the shape of your name.

everything softens:
the hours, the outlines,
the ache you thought would stay forever.

here,
time is water.
you are the shore.
Apr 8 · 348
The Sea Kept Us
Maryann I Apr 8
No one noticed when we slipped beneath the tide,
our bodies weightless, swaying slow,
the world above a distant hush—
only the hush, only the glow.

Seahorses curl like secrets in the deep,
golden spines bending with the waves,
we let the water braid our hands,
a quiet promise, softly saved.

The current hums a lullaby,
your voice dissolves into the blue,
I turn to you, you turn away—
what else is there for us to do?

No one noticed when the sky let go,
when salt became the air we breathed,
the ocean held us, gentle ghosts—
and never asked if we would leave.

Apr 8 · 207
Someday, Softly
Maryann I Apr 8
The sky does not always thunder,
some days it only hums—
a low lullaby in pastel blue,
resting on your windowpane.

There is beauty in stillness,
like dew-beads clinging to a spider’s thread,
fragile, glimmering, unseen
but alive.

You are not late.
The garden blooms when it’s ready—
not a moment before.
Even the moon takes its time
to become full.

So let yourself be tired.
Let the ache sit beside you.
It will not stay forever.
It knows you’re learning,
and learning is slow.

One day, the breath in your chest
will feel like enough.
The dawn will no longer feel
like a beginning you’ve missed.
You’ll sip morning light
and say,
I made it.

Not with fanfare,
not with fire—
but with soft feet
on soft earth,
and a heart that chose
to stay.

everything will be okay, someday.
Apr 7 · 163
Muted
Maryann I Apr 7
The walls don’t echo anymore.
The sound of your voice
used to cling to the corners
like dusk settling in the seams—
now there’s just
stillness
that chokes.

I say your name
like a dropped plate
shattering in an empty hallway—
and you
don’t
flinch.

The space between us
is crowded with things
you’ll never say.
Your silence is a scythe
trimming down
my worth.

Every glance you avoid
draws a chalk outline
around the version of me
you no longer see.

I water the air with apologies
that never bloom.
You offer nothing,
and still,
I bend
like sun-starved vines
toward the warmth
of nothing.


How loud you are
without a single word.

silent treatment
Maryann I Apr 5
Beneath the hush of silver rain,
a seed waits in the dark—
not for lack of light,
but in honor of time.


The river does not rush the stone,
nor the moon beg the sun for dawn.
Even stars take centuries
to whisper their names in light.

Patience is the hush in the hallway
before the door opens,
the breath before the answer,
the ache before the bloom.

Learn from the tree—
how it bears the weight of seasons
without breaking.
How it drinks storms and silence
without complaint.


You are becoming.
Not in bursts,
but in slow, sacred folds
of being.

Let the days pass.
Let the sky spin.
You are not late—
you are rooting.
Maryann I Apr 4
Haven’t I bled my colors dry,
wrung my bones into brittle dust,
laid my soul on the altar of expectation,
only to be asked for more?

The echoes of my name—
demanding, dragging, devouring—
they carve into my ribs,
turning marrow to aching void,
turning breath to borrowed air.

Do I not shimmer with scars enough?
Do my hands not tremble with the weight of giving?
Must I unspool myself further,
pulling, pulling, pulling
until nothing remains but the ghost of a thread?

Tell me, when does the hunger end?
When does the world swallow the last piece of me
and say, enough?
Apr 3 · 136
Ever and Again
Maryann I Apr 3
Each time you step into view,
it’s like the first time—
a lightning strike of wonder,
a slow-burning sunrise blooming behind my ribs.

Your eyes catch mine, and I swear—
the world resets.

Every glance is an untouched page,
every smile, an unheard melody,
each moment with you, a beginning again and again.

I have memorized the way your voice folds into the air,
how your hands move like poetry in motion,
yet every time—
it’s discovery, it’s breathlessness, it’s new.

Loving you is an echo with no end,
a star collapsing only to be reborn,
a loop where time folds into itself
and delivers me back to that first look,
again, again, and again…
Maryann I Apr 2
a story unwritten, a verse left untold,
a heart still beating, but always cold.
Apr 1 · 142
Please
Maryann I Apr 1
I’m sorry
I’m so sorry
I’m trying
I’m really trying

believe me

I gave in again
I gave in to the voices again
I—
cut myself again

please

please forgive me
please—
I didn’t mean to—
no, I did
but not like that
not to hurt you
but now it feels like I did

please don’t leave me

not like she did

please
stay a little longer
just a while
just—
forever?
I’ll get better, I promise

I promise

I just—
I can’t be alone
not in this house
not in this war-zone of a home
where voices break more than silence
where hands break more than glass

I—
I can’t stay here
or I fear—
no, I know—
the darkness will take me

please,
my love—
forgive me

you said
you’d never leave
you said
you’d stay
but what if one day
you get tired?

what if you see
I’m not something
you can fix?

what if
I never mend?

I don’t want to be like this forever.

but I’m scared

because all I’ve ever known
is hurt
instead of love

they were supposed to be better—
the ones who took us in
but the mother had fists like storms
and the father—
I don’t want to say it
but it stays inside me like rot

and now—
no, now I sound like I want pity
like I want someone to look at me
to see me

social media says
I’m an attention seeker
for saying this
for feeling this
for needing someone to listen

even my own therapist feels like a lie

what was I even talking about?

…oh

cutting myself

I got carried away, didn’t I?
I always do.

I’m just—
I don’t know
I don’t know how to stop
I don’t know how to let go

the grudge I hold—
it’s eating me alive

I’m sorry
I’m so sorry
I—

I put more scars into my body
again
again
again


if they find out
they’ll send me away
they’ll—

please
please don’t let them

please help me

please—


Maryann,
help me.
At first, it seems
I write for love—
a plea, a whisper,
“stay, forgive me.”

But as the ink spills,
the truth unravels—
these words aren’t for them.
They are for me.

A cry I cannot speak,
a confession I cannot hold.
The more I write,
the more the lines blur—

between seeking comfort
and fearing that no one
will ever truly stay.
Mar 31 · 166
It’s Your Right.
Maryann I Mar 31
No one owns your body.
No one has the right to take.
No one has the right to push.

It’s okay to say no.
Even when they say you’re leading them on.
Even when they say you owe them.
Even when they say you don’t mean it.

It’s okay to say no.
Even when your voice shakes.
Even when your hands tremble.
Even when you feel small.

It’s okay to say no.
Even when you’re afraid.
Even when you don’t know what will happen next.
Even when they won’t stop.

It’s your body.
It’s your choice.
It’s your right.
Do they have the right to take what’s not given?
No.
Mar 31 · 207
Wired
Maryann I Mar 31
Flicker.  
              Flicker.  
                            Flicker.

nothing,  
                  — pulse,
  
        there’s a hum,  
                    a crack in the air  
                           splitting sound.

Where am I?
  

     The sky is
   broken.
                 Can't remember  
                            what it looked like. 

Eyes?
  
           Are they mine?  
          Flickering too, 
                     shaking with  
         electric pulse 
              crackling through my teeth.  

I feel it 
         underneath my skin.  
Hands don’t  
          feel right,  
  touch doesn’t  
            make sense—

skin is not skin.

            What was I?  
                        Who was I?  
          Laughter—
  
no, screaming?  
        I—  
                      no, not me—

I’m here.  
                  I’m here.

                          I am.  

     The wires hum louder,  
                            closer,  
                 ­        louder. 

I’m part of it,  
             a piece,  
                 like a thread  
snapped  
       and rewound  
              in the wrong place.
  

but it feels good,  
        doesn’t it?  
               to belong,  
                           to dissolve,  
               to feel this twist  
         in my mind.
  

I feel it—  
                   this weight.  
                   It holds me.

        I’m home.
Mar 30 · 2.4k
They Stay
Maryann I Mar 30
They call her names,
send their curses through a screen.
She blocks them,
but the words slip through the cracks,
curl beneath her skin.

She scrubs her face,
but the insults don’t wash away.
She sleeps,
but the whispers slither through her dreams.

Years pass.
The usernames are gone.
The accounts are deleted.
The laughter has moved on.

But the words—
the words still stay.
This poem plays with the idea that words, once spoken (or typed), never truly go away.
Mar 29 · 158
Sweet Reverie
Maryann I Mar 29
Drizzle me in honeyed gold,
let caramel ribbons lace my skin,
warm and slow as they trickle down—
a river of molten sugar, pooling in bliss.

The air is thick with vanilla hush,
soft as sifted powdered snow,
melting on my tongue like a whispered dream,
light as spun sugar caught in the breeze.

Bite into the velvet hush of chocolate—
dark as midnight, rich as sin,
a decadent flood that lingers and sighs,
coating lips in satin warmth.

Strawberries glisten, ruby-bright,
dipped in white chocolate sighs,
their **** kiss softened by cream’s embrace,
blushing beneath the moon’s silver glow.

Golden crusts crack beneath the fork,
pastry flaking into a buttery hush,
as custard spills in silken waves,
folding sweetly into waiting hands.

A swirl of cinnamon dances in air,
twisting in clouds of sugar and spice,
as soft dough blooms in golden spirals,
cradled in the warmth of the oven’s arms.

And in this feast of sugared dreams,
where every taste is a lullaby,
let me drown in the amber glow
of honeyed nights and caramel skies.

Mar 29 · 919
The Last Breakfast
Maryann I Mar 29
The sun barely rises,
casting a soft glow across the table,
the air thick with the scent of syrup,
a warm, comforting embrace.
On my plate, the pancakes—
fluffy, golden stacks,
like little clouds kissed by the earth,
drizzled with dark, rich chocolate,
a bittersweet sweetness
clinging to the edges like memories.
Whipped cream swirls like soft cotton,
cascading in graceful heaps,
while strawberries, red as a fleeting sunset,
sit nestled atop like the last bloom
before winter’s breath.

A sip of hot chocolate,
dark and creamy,
curling steam rising like the breath of life,
whipped cream crowned with syrup,
a spoonful of warmth
that holds the promise of comfort,
a taste of home in every drop.

Each bite is a surrender,
the world softening,
blurring, fading with every chew.
The sweetness, the richness,
mingling with the faintest hint of finality—
my last meal, my last taste
of earth’s tender gifts.

As I eat, I watch the room,
the last sunrise casting long shadows,
its golden light touching things
that once held so much meaning—
a chair, a book, a photograph.
And I wonder if this moment,
this simple breakfast,
will be the last I ever know,
and if it’s enough
to carry me through
the final breath.

Maryann I Mar 28
The sun still rose—did you know that?
A dull, indifferent thing,
spilling light over hollow places
that once held your shadow.

They found your coat on the chair,
your shoes by the door,
as if you meant to return.

The air was thick with silence,
the kind that hums in empty rooms,
pressing against the walls
where your voice used to be.

Someone called your name by accident.
Someone set a place at the table.
Someone swore they heard your footsteps
on the stairs.

And I—
I watched the world keep spinning,
watched birds lift into the sky
as if nothing had been lost,
as if the earth had not swallowed
a universe.

Mar 24 · 263
Midnight’s Whisper
Maryann I Mar 24
When the clock strikes 12, the world exhales,
And silence spills through shadowed trails.
A hush falls soft on rooftops steep,
While stars begin their solemn sweep.

The moon slips on her silver veil,
A whisper carried by the gale.
Curtains dance to unseen hands,
As midnight casts its quiet demands.

Time bends in that fleeting chime,
A bridge between the day and time
Where secrets stir and spirits wake,
And dreams slip through the cracks they make.

Old wishes echo in the air,
Unspoken hopes, half-spun despair.
A fox tiptoes through garden dew,
The world turns dark, then strangely new.

Lovers kiss in borrowed light,
Owls take flight into the night.
The clock ticks on, a lullaby,
For those who ache, for those who cry.

When the clock strikes 12, beware—
Magic hums through midnight air.
And if you listen close, you’ll hear
The heartbeats of another sphere.
12:00
03/24/2025
Mar 23 · 242
Soulmate
Maryann I Mar 23
An absolute treasure,
Admirable, in every way,
With an affectionate heart,
And a presence alluring, bright as day.
An amiable soul,
With an angel face, so pure,
An angelic spirit,
A calm anchor, ever sure.

Appealing to all who meet,
An artistic touch, a heart so free,
With an artistic mind that dreams,
An aurora-bright light for me.
An awe-inspiring gaze,
My baby love, serene,
Balanced and beautiful,
A beacon of strength unseen.

My better half, you stand by me,
Big-hearted, full of grace,
Blooming with kindness,
Bold in every space.
Born of stardust, your soul’s a light,
Brave yet kind, you’re always right.
Breathtaking with every breath you take,
Your bright eyes make my heart awake.

You are brilliant, so bubbly,
A calming force,
The calm after chaos,
Like calm as snowfall, of course.
A calm-hearted lover,
Caring, always near,
A celestial light, so cheeky, so charming,
With a charming clown to cheer.

You’re classy, clever,
A comfort-maker, in every way,
Comforting, your touch is peace,
A comet-hearted friend to stay.
Considerate and cosmic beauty,
A cosmic magnet in my life,
A cozy feeling in your embrace,
Your courteous love ends all strife.

A cuddle magnet,
With Cupid’s charm,
You’re my cutie pie,
So dashing, with your arms.
You’re my day-maker,
A debonair dream,
Delightfully odd, so determined,
A devoted soul, it seems.

A diamond in the rough,
Distinct, a divine muse,
Your divine presence guides me,
Like a dream constellation, you diffuse.
My dreamboat, so dreamy,
A earth-woven spirit,
An eclipse of perfection,
So elegant with every merit.

Emotionally intelligent,
A embrace of calm you bring,
Empowering, you are always,
My enamoring king.
Enchanted prince, so endearing,
Energetic in spirit,
An entertaining soul,
Ethereal, a eternal flame to merit.

Exceptional, a being so rare,
You’re exceptional, beyond compare,
Eye-catching, so fearless you stand,
Fetching, your firelight soul expands.
So flawless, with a forest-humble soul,
Fresh as morning dew, you make me whole.
Friendly, always, fun-loving,
A galaxy-hearted being, rising above.

You’re gallant, a gem of light,
Generous, a genius, so gentle, too,
With a gentle breeze, and a gentle fire,
You bring me warmth, always true.
A gentle giant, your gentle presence,
Golden autumn warmth is yours,
A golden boy, golden-souled,
You are the one my heart adores.

So goofy, always gorgeous,
A graceful being, so grand in might,
Your gravity of love pulls me near,
So grounded, you’re my light.
A guardian angel,
Handsome as sin,
A harbor of peace,
With heart-holding within.

You’re my heart-lifter,
Heart-melting, you are pure,
A heart-resting peace,
So heart-soothing, for sure.
Heart-stopping, heart-throbbing,
Your heartwarming funny ways,
A heaven-sent gift,
A heavenly presence, always stays.

So helpful, so heroic,
The highlight of my life,
Honest-hearted, you bring honey-soul calm,
With your honey-toned voice, no strife.
A hope-restorer,
Iconic, you shine bright,
So impressive, my ink-stained dream,
With insightful, brilliant light.

You’re intelligent, irreplaceable,
A joy-bringer, full of cheer,
Joyful in spirit, so jovial,
You make every day bright, my dear.
You’re a jewel, so kindhearted,
With a knight of warmth in tow,
A laugh-creator, laugh-inducing,
Your leader-like love will always grow.

A legend in skin,
A legendary light,
Light in the dark,
You’re my light of my life, so right.
Light-bringer, my lighthearted love,
A love note in motion,
The love of my life,
You are my deepest emotion.

You’re love-struck, love-wrapped,
A lovebug, so lovesome, too,
Loving, loyal to the core,
My magic wrapped in skin, so true.
A magnificent, majestic force,
Matchless, mature and nurturing soul,
Mature beyond years, you are,
With a meadow-soft heart, whole.

Your mental beauty is clear,
So merciful, and mesmerizing,
A meteor of wonder,
With a mind-blowing soul, rising.
You’re mindful, so miraculous,
Missed even when near,
A modern-day hero,
With moonbeam eyes so dear.

A moonlit soul,
Mountain-strong with might,
Movie-star gorgeous,
You are my Mr. Right in sight.
My Mr. Wonderful,
My Apollo, you glow,
My calm after chaos,
You’re the light in my low.

My daylight in dusk,
My everything, you see,
My favorite sentence,
My heart, forever to be.
You’re my heart’s favorite song,
My home, my moon, so bright,
My muse, my safe chapter,
You are my heart’s light.

My safe rhythm,
My soft place, so dear,
My steady ground,
A myth brought to life, always near.
Mythical rarity,
Nurturing in grace,
Neat, you are,
Night-sky brilliance fills your space.

Noble, noble-looking,
With a northern light soul,
Observant, ocean-deep heart,
One-in-a-million whole.
One-of-a-kind, so orbit-worthy,
Out-of-this-world love shines,
Otherworldly lover,
You are forever mine.

Passionate, patient,
Peace-giver, so peaceful,
Peaceful warrior,
With a pegasus soul so beautiful.
Perfectly sculpted,
Perceptive, full of grace,
A petal-soft smile,
You are my perfect place.

Phenomenal, philosophical,
Picture-perfect every way,
You’re a pillow for the soul,
Playful, bright, night and day.
Pleasant, a poet’s dream,
So polished, precious, true,
Profound, protective,
Pure-hearted, all for you.

Quirky, quick-minded,
Quiet strength, always bright,
Quietly powerful,
You are my light.
Radiant, radiantly handsome,
Rain-kissed spirit, you shine,
A rare, ravishing soul,
Real and rooted, divine.

Reflective, regal,
Remarkable, a treasure untold,
Remarkably different,
Reliable, strong as gold.
You’re resilient, river-smooth,
Rooted and real,
My safe arms,
A safe haven, where I heal.

Safe space, secure and loving,
Selfless, sensational light,
Seraphic, a serene spirit,
You are my peace at night.
Serenity-bringer,
Sharp-witted and bold,
A shining light,
Your love is gold.

A shooting star soul,
So silly in the best way,
Singular, a smile-stirrer,
Your soft, kind heart leads the way.
A soft-spoken angel,
A softie, pure and true,
Solid-hearted,
Soul-connecting, you.

A soul-deep kind,
So soulful, bright and clear,
Soul-grounding, soul-nourishing,
You’re the love I hold dear.
Soul-saver, soul-softening,
Soul-soothing always,
You are the soulful light,
In my life’s endless maze.

A special soul,
Spellbinding, you stay,
Spirited, star-kissed,
A starboy in every way.
Your starlight smile
Is a stellar ray,
Steady, my steady and safe love,
You are my heart’s play.

So strong but soft,
With strong-minded grace,
Stunning, sublime presence,
A subtle strength in your face.
Sugar eyes, summer-sweet,
A sunbeam in human form,
You’re my sunshine,
My sunshine in human form—my warm.

Super cute,
Superb, my star,
Supportive, you’re my supreme,
My sweet as spring rain, you are.
Sweet-natured, my sweet soul,
A sweetheart, sweet-talking, too,
A symphony of kindness,
You make the world new.

You’re the color in my grayscale,
The hug I crave,
The line I’d always reread,
You’re the metaphor for joy, my wave.
The one, my poem I never stop writing,
The punctuation to my soul,
The rhythm in my soul,
You’re my heart’s goal.

The sigh between heartbeats,
The softest verse, so bright,
Thoughtful, thoughtful soul,
Thought-provoking light.
A thunder-hearted,
Titan of tenderness to hold,
You’re top-tier,
A tranquil, endless love, so bold.

You’re my treasure,
True gentleman, so right,
A true original,
Truehearted, my light.
You’re trustworthy,
Unforgettable in every way,
With your unique essence,
Unmatched, you forever stay.

Unparalleled, unrepeatable,
Unshakable love is yours,
Universe-wrapped,
Upright, my love restores.
Valuable, you’re valiant,
A visionary, so true,
Warm, my warm hug in human form,
Warmhearted, always you.

You’re a warrior of kindness,
So well-groomed, full of cheer,
Wild and beautiful,
A wildflower soul near.
Winsome, wise,
Wise beyond your years,
Wonderful,
World-class, through all my fears.

You are worthy,
Xenial in nature,
Welcoming and warm,
Xtraordinary, you shine,
A love beyond form.

Yearningly kind,
Your heart always true,
Yellow-sun smile,
Brightens the world, too.

A love like none before,
My zen,
You are my heart’s core.
Zenith of love,
A zen-like presence, so sweet,
Zealous for life,
You make me complete.
To my sweet boy:
Please let this love last forever,
For in your heart, I’ve found my home,
And with you, I am whole.
Mar 21 · 280
Disrupted Sonata
Maryann I Mar 21
Shards of silence splinter,
fractals in a firestorm,
spitting tongues of dissonance—
a thousand echoes collide,
furious in their quiet.

Cacophonous breath snaps the air,
a brittle pulse skittering on the edge
of infinity’s unraveling thread.
Fingers claw through time’s tattered skin,
guts of fate, entwined in the darkening loop,
each moment—shattered, resurgent.

The sky is a broken chandelier,
raining sparks like ghostly paperclips,
stretched too thin,
too jagged to catch—
each piece too sharp to hold,
to name.

Spirals twist through aching space,
each turn a jagged refrain,
unhinged from rhythm,
lost in sound—
chasing its own reflection,
a fractured symphony,
unsung,
stifled by its own reverberation.

Hunger for motion tears through the hollow,
frenzied like a feathered shard,
quivering in the teeth of wind,
caught in a whirl of starlight’s splatter.
The sky is endless,
but always breaking,
and always,
still,
it falls.
Mar 21 · 282
Rain Songs
Maryann I Mar 21
The sky hums in hush-toned hymns,
a low lullaby spilled from clouded lips,
each droplet a note pressed into the pavement,
a whispered memory stitched in silver.

Windows shiver with ghost-sung verses,
curtains breathing with the rhythm of sorrow,
and the wind—a cello bow against the bones of trees—
tunes the ache beneath the leaves.

My heart is a rooftop, dented with echoes,
each raindrop tapping a forgotten name.
Love trickles down the spine of gutters,
flooding the roots of things I tried to bury.

A sigh in the storm drapes over the hills,
a velvet hush, soft as moth wings on skin,
and puddles bloom like mirrored portals,
reflecting versions of us that never unraveled.

I walk through the hush, barefoot and blinking,
as the world dissolves in a watercolor blur,
clouds unraveling like old lullabies,
and time dripping slower beneath the storm’s spell.

A single leaf spins a slow waltz in the wind,
a dancer suspended in the music of mourning,
and somewhere, in the hush between thunder,
I hear the song you never finished singing.

The rain writes elegies in rivulets,
soft verses sliding down windowpane spines,
and though the storm may pass without promise,
I press my ear to the dusk,
and still, I listen.

A gentle reflection on loss, memory, and the quiet things that linger in the rain.
Mar 21 · 291
Ash to Blossom
Maryann I Mar 21
I was a cavern, hollowed by storms,
veins lined with soot, breath laced with ash.
Grief hung from my ribs like moss in a forgotten wood,
a slow rot curling beneath my tongue.

The moon turned its back; even stars whispered away,
and I wore my rage like a cloak of thorns,
each step scattering petals of ruin,
each silence a howl stitched beneath my skin.

I became a storm cellar of memories,
echoing thunder that never touched sky,
harboring shadows that fed on the scent of blame,
their claws tracing old wounds like sacred scripture.

But dawn cracked the stone—
a golden vine threading through grief’s grip,
spilling warmth into marrow that had forgotten how to bloom.
The river inside me stirred—slow, reluctant—

yet still it moved, washing silt from the hollows.
I knelt in that current, palms open, and let the darkness slip—
a feather carried downstream, a name released to the wind.

Forgiveness was not a surrender, but a seed,
buried deep beneath frostbitten roots,
unfolding in silence, unfurling toward light.

And now—
my heart, once a cathedral of echoes,
is a garden humming with bees,
each bloom a memory healed, not erased.

Mar 19 · 359
Petals of Poison
Maryann I Mar 19
I loved you like spring loves the thaw,
like lungs crave air,
like art bleeds from the soul of the artist.
And I thought love was enough
to keep the thorns from drawing blood.
I thought devotion would bloom into safety—
but I was only watering a graveyard.

The sickness started slow.
First, a cough—
a whisper of rose dust on my tongue.
Then came the petals,
delicate at first,
pink and trembling with hope.
I cradled them like confessions,
believed they were proof of love.

But they kept coming—
petal after petal,
each one heavy with what you wouldn’t give back.
You kissed me with a smile,
while my lungs filled with flowers
planted by hands that never loved me,
only held me for convenience,
for control,
for conquest.

You were a storm beneath soft skin,
a poison wrapped in perfume.
And I loved you—
God, I loved you,
even while you killed parts of me
with your indifference,
even before I knew the rot ran deeper
than abandonment.

Now I know.
Now I know what you are.
A ****** draped in sunlight,
a predator with a paintbrush smile.
You painted me pretty,
then picked me apart.
And I mistook the pain for passion,
your silence for mystery,
your selfishness for sadness.

My body remembers every time
you touched without love,
every moment I mistook trauma for intimacy.
The petals grew darker—
maroon now,
coated in blood,
choking me from within.

I coughed them into my hands,
and still whispered your name
as if you’d come back with kindness,
as if you were ever kind.

I don’t want to mourn you.
I want to mourn me—
the version of me who still believed in you,
who still thought love was supposed to hurt
but not like this.
Never like this.

Hanahaki, they call it—
the disease of unreturned love.
But this isn’t love anymore.
This is grief.
This is rage.
This is survival.

And someday,
someday I’ll breathe again,
clear-chested, flowerless,
free.
This is an older poem written during a difficult time in my life. I’ve since found healing and am now in a healthy, loving relationship. It took time to recover, but things are getting better, and I’m learning to grow from the pain.
Mar 19 · 257
100 Ways to Love
Maryann I Mar 19
1. Through a whisper in the dark, reminding them they are never alone.  
2. Through the quiet presence that asks nothing in return.  
3. Through laughter shared on a rainy day.  
4. Through the comfort of a warm hand, reaching out in silence.  
5. Through eyes that see past the flaws, embracing the whole.  
6. Through a word of encouragement, when doubt clouds their mind.  
7. Through a hug that lingers just long enough to say, “I’m here.”  
8. Through the sacrifice of your own comfort, for their peace.  
9. Through the patience to wait, knowing love is often about timing.  
10. Through a song sung softly in the morning, just to greet them.  
11. Through the way your smile brightens their worst day.  
12. Through knowing their dreams by heart, even before they say them.  
13. Through remembering the smallest details, because they matter.  
14. Through the way your heart skips a beat at their name.  
15. Through a quiet moment shared, when words aren’t needed.  
16. Through an open ear, listening to their fears.  
17. Through a shared glance that says more than a thousand words.  
18. Through standing beside them, even when the world doesn’t.  
19. Through an apology that shows vulnerability.  
20. Through the joy of seeing them grow, even if it means they leave your side.  
21. Through a night spent talking about everything and nothing.  
22. Through the simple act of being fully present, not distracted.  
23. Through the hands that hold tightly, never letting go in fear.  
24. Through a love that never tires of giving.  
25. Through the willingness to be vulnerable, letting them see your true self.  
26. Through the quiet bravery of trusting them with your heart.  
27. Through a shared cup of coffee in the morning, savoring the moment.  
28. Through the support you offer, even when it’s difficult for you.  
29. Through letting them find their own way, while still being there to guide.  
30. Through the peace found in simply being next to them.  
31. Through the sacrifices made quietly, without expecting recognition.  
32. Through forgiveness when it’s the hardest thing to do.  
33. Through the simple joy of waking up beside them.  
34. Through letting go of past hurts, to make room for healing.  
35. Through laughter that echoes in the quietest moments.  
36. Through the silence that says, “I’ll always be here.”  
37. Through a promise to always try, even when it seems easier not to.  
38. Through the shared experience of creating something beautiful together.  
39. Through the little things that make them feel seen, heard, and loved.  
40. Through sharing your fears and showing them that vulnerability is strength.  
41. Through holding their hand in the dark, when nothing else is certain.  
42. Through the way you give them space to be themselves.  
43. Through protecting their heart as if it were your own.  
44. Through the understanding that love isn’t always perfect, but it’s always enough.  
45. Through the comfort of knowing they’ll always have your back.  
46. Through your words that build them up, never tear them down.  
47. Through giving them time to grow, even when you wish they’d stay the same.  
48. Through giving without expecting, because love is never transactional.  
49. Through the trust that allows both of you to be fully yourselves.  
50. Through the silence that says, “I’ll always be here.”  
51. Through an unexpected gesture, just to show you care.  
52. Through remembering the things they never asked you to remember.  
53. Through letting go of your own fears, so they can face theirs.  
54. Through the quiet comfort of just sitting together, no need for conversation.  
55. Through your commitment, even when it’s easier to walk away.  
56. Through your patience when they’re not ready to speak.  
57. Through the moments where you give your all, and expect nothing back.  
58. Through creating a space where they feel at home in your heart.  
59. Through the way you admire them in the quiet moments.  
60. Through sharing your soul, knowing it will never be judged.  
61. Through the way you cherish the quiet moments, as much as the loud ones.  
62. Through holding on when they want to let go.  
63. Through saying “I love you,” without needing to say it.  
64. Through the joy of seeing them succeed, as though their success were your own.  
65. Through a shoulder to cry on, without the need for words.  
66. Through a gentle reminder of how strong they truly are.  
67. Through your belief in them, even when they can’t believe in themselves.  
68. Through shared memories that only the two of you understand.  
69. Through giving them the freedom to be who they are, without judgment.  
70. Through letting them know they’re never a burden, no matter what.  
71. Through your dedication to their happiness, even if it means sacrificing your own.  
72. Through the simple act of choosing them, every single day.  
73. Through the patience of waiting for them to come back, when they need space.  
74. Through the joy found in their smallest victories.  
75. Through the strength found in vulnerability, when you trust them with your secrets.  
76. Through the way you protect their heart, knowing it’s fragile.  
77. Through the way you find beauty in the way they see the world.  
78. Through sharing your insecurities, knowing they’ll be met with love.  
79. Through the way you admire them, even when they can’t see their own greatness.  
80. Through choosing kindness, even in moments of frustration.  
81. Through knowing their fears without them speaking a word.  
82. Through choosing to grow together, even when it feels uncomfortable.  
83. Through the way you embrace their flaws as part of their beauty.  
84. Through the moments where you challenge them, to help them grow.  
85. Through respecting their independence, while still offering support.  
86. Through the way you allow yourself to be fully loved by them.  
87. Through the softness in your gaze, when everything else feels hard.  
88. Through your willingness to learn from them, as they learn from you.  
89. Through your ability to make them feel like the most important person in the room.  
90. Through the way you let them in, even when it’s terrifying.  
91. Through the way you speak their name, like it’s the most beautiful sound.  
92. Through your desire to protect their heart, no matter the cost.  
93. Through the way you see their soul, beyond the surface.  
94. Through the love you give, expecting nothing but their happiness in return.  
95. Through the way you show them that they’re enough, just as they are.  
96. Through the way you make them feel safe, even in the chaos.  
97. Through the way you help them find peace, even when they don’t know how to.  
98. Through your unspoken promise to always fight for them.  
99. Through every moment of your love, showing them they are worth it.  
100. Through every breath, knowing that to love them is the greatest gift of all.
Mar 18 · 116
Please Stay
Maryann I Mar 18
I don’t know how many ways
I can say please don’t go.
My voice is threadbare,
worn thin by the echo—
of every time I’ve begged
a heart to stay.

Please.
I won’t raise my voice,
I won’t ask for forever.
Just this moment.
Just tonight.
Just your hand in mine
a little longer
before it slips
again
into silence.

Please stay—
even if the light is fading,
even if the world pulls
and your shadow stretches
farther from me
with each breath.

I’ve sung this tune before,
a chorus cracked from overuse—
the needle stuck
on don’t leave me, don’t leave me,
and still, I press repeat,
like maybe this time
it’ll end in a different verse.

Please.
Let this love
be more than a passing song.
Let it be the one
that plays
without goodbye
in every beat of us.

Please stay.
I’ve already lost so much.
Don’t be the next
ghost I whisper to
when the music
cuts out.

Please.
Mar 18 · 222
Until the Music Fades
Maryann I Mar 18
I’ll keep on telling you that I love you—
soft as dust on lace,
a whisper tucked in velvet drawers,
a melody wound into time
by trembling hands and silver keys.

Like the ballerina turning in her little glass world,
I’ll spin my love in slow circles,
over and over—
even when the tune grows thin,
even when the gears grow tired.

When the cogs in my mind lose their rhythm,
when the clockwork in my chest falters,
when my fingers no longer reach to hold you—
still, somewhere beneath the hush,
my heart will echo its worn refrain:
“I love you, I love you…”

Until the spindle stops,
until the lid closes gently,
and all that’s left
is the scent of old music,
the silence that remembers
the song we once knew.
Mar 17 · 200
Overmissing You
Maryann I Mar 17
I miss you like the moon misses the tide—
drawn toward you in quiet gravity,
yet left to glow alone in the hush
of a sky too wide, too still, too far.

I miss you like wind through a field of lilies,
brushing soft petals that don’t respond.
Like a ghost breeze sighing through curtains,
hoping you might return through the door.

You are the fog in my early mornings,
the warmth my coffee fails to mimic,
the soft indentation in my pillow
where your dreams used to rest beside mine.

I miss you in colors—
in the pale peach of sunset clouds,
in the silver hush of midnight rain,
in the gold that glimmers through memory’s lace.

I miss you in textures—
in velvet air after thunder,
in the silk of whispered goodnights,
in the ache behind every slow breath.

You echo in the spaces between stars,
your name hidden in stardust trails,
your touch a distant hum in my bones—
faint, but ever pulsing beneath my skin.

Even time seems to unravel without you—
hours stretch like candle wax down my spine,
and every clock tick is a heartbeat
that forgets how to beat right without yours.

I find you in the oddest places—
a song half-heard on a street corner,
the scent of rain on a stranger’s coat,
a poem I didn’t mean to write, but did.

I miss you in ways I don’t know how to explain—
with a love that doesn’t settle,
a yearning that spills past language,
a soul ache that dreams of you in petals and tidepools.

And still,
somehow,
I keep missing you more.
Maryann I Mar 16
Beneath a sky of quiet blue,
I feel the breeze and think of you—
It whispers softly through the pine,
Just like your fingers brush with mine.

The sunlight warms my face and skin,
But nothing warms me like your grin.
Even the river hums your tune,
A steady rhythm, sweet and true.

The wildflowers bloom along my way,
And every petal seems to say
That love like yours is rare and deep—
A kind of joy I’ll always keep.

I hear the robins sing your name,
I see you in the morning flame—
The way the dawn begins to rise
Feels just like looking in your eyes.

In every tree, in every breeze,
In every hush between the leaves,
I find you there, in quiet grace—
A feeling I could never replace.

No matter how the seasons turn,
No matter what the skies may churn—
You are the calm inside my storm,
The hand that always keeps me warm.

And in the garden of my soul,
You’ve made a home, you’ve made me whole.
Mar 15 · 226
Ashes in the Wind
Maryann I Mar 15
I was not born to break,
but I have shattered
quietly—
like glass beneath velvet footsteps.
Still, I rise,
not whole,
but burning brighter
in every fractured edge.
Mar 15 · 307
I’ve Lost Count
Maryann I Mar 15
I’ve lost count—
was it the fourth winter or the seventh spring
when the silence curled too tightly around my ribs,
and I mistook it for peace?
When the night stopped being a comfort
and started swallowing me whole?

I’ve lost count—
of how many times I’ve stood at the edge of the thought,
toe curling over the ledge,
heartbeat whispering, ”this time, maybe.”
Of how often I’ve written letters I never mailed,
just to prove to myself I was still worth a goodbye.

There were nights I rehearsed my exit
like a prayer no one would answer—
softly, solemnly,
just in case the universe was listening.

I’ve forgotten the shape of my first goodbye,
but I remember the echo—
how it rang in my bones long after the moment passed,
how it became a second heartbeat,
steady and hollow.

How many bottles did I uncap,
not to swallow,
but to measure the weight of the idea in my palm?
How many bridges did I cross,
wondering if the wind would take mercy
and push me before I had to decide?

I’ve counted calendar days like scars,
tallied time in tear-salted pillowcases,
marked milestones not by celebration,
but by survival.

There’s a number for everything—
beats per minute, breaths per hour,
how long it takes for a wound to scab,
how many milligrams it takes to numb a scream—
but there is no metric
for how many times a soul tries to disappear.

People ask why I’m so tired.
I smile,
because how do you explain
what it means to dig yourself out of your own grave
again and again
with bare, trembling hands?

But still—
I wake up.
Not always because I want to.
Sometimes just because I didn’t succeed.

And yet—
I’m still here.
Tired, yes.
Heavy with ghosts I haven’t named.
But here.

And that has to count for something.
This year has been overwhelming, to say the least. But through it all, I’ve been fighting—holding on, trying to stay grounded just a little longer, enough to heal and find myself again. I want to express my deep gratitude to this community, which has been a place of solace when I needed it most. To those who have listened to my vents, offered comfort, or simply acknowledged my pain, your presence has meant more than words can capture. Your quiet support has been a lifeline, and I am truly thankful for it.
Mar 15 · 188
Telltale
Maryann I Mar 15
I left the door ajar,
just barely —
a silent plea beneath the noise
of “I’m fine” and
“I’m just tired.”

I wrapped my pain in quiet places,
hid the marks where no one looks —
beneath waistbands,
behind layers,
hoping someone might see past it
without me having to say it.

But every time someone got close,
I turned colder, sharper—
a defense disguised as indifference,
a fortress I hated living in
but couldn’t stop building higher.

They tried, I know they did—
friends with warm hands,
family with concerned eyes—
but I shrugged them off,
convinced I was doing them a favor
by being alone in the storm.

Now the room is quiet again,
the fabric sticks to skin,
and I still can’t say
what’s bleeding inside me.

The world just kept on spinning,
while I stayed stuck,
fading in the spaces between
genuine smiles and forced ones.
And in the end,
everyone seemed to give up
and leave me—
not out of malice,
but because they couldn’t reach
what I was too afraid to show.

But I feel it now,
the echo behind silence,
the weight of a choice unspoken—

this action will have consequences.
Mar 14 · 239
A Quiet Collapse
Maryann I Mar 14
Today, I’ve felt
a new sort of empty—
not the kind I’ve known before,
but something softer,
quieter,
hollow in a different way.

I have the world
just minutes from my reach,
and still—
he hasn’t filled this void.

As I write,
the phone begins to melt into my hands—
left side lifting,
right side falling,
then reversing—
a quiet seesaw of glass and ache.

My dim screen flickers,
and the world fades at the edges.
Tiny black dots bloom
in my peripheral vision—
not enough to blind me,
just enough to remind me
I’m slipping.

I ate a small chocolate granola bar today—
just that.
I was hungry,
but the hunger vanished beneath tears—
tears over him
not understanding
what he’s done wrong—
again.

A million times—
maybe less,
but it feels like that now.

And maybe it’s stupid.
But I feel ignored—
again.

I tried to explain.
I always try.
But he always forgets.

I tell myself: don’t care.
But I do.
God, I do.

It wasn’t even a big deal—
but somewhere in the silence,
my self-confidence slipped away.

I deleted every photo of myself.
All of them.
Gone.
I don’t even know why—
just that this sadness
poured in like floodwater,
crashing through the walls I’d built
to keep it out.

I’ve been sleeping all day,
avoiding his name,
my family’s voices.
I keep drifting,
even as I write.

I don’t want to do anything anymore.
And I don’t know
what’s wrong with me.
3/14/25
Mar 14 · 187
How Many Ways to Love
Maryann I Mar 14
How many ways to love, you ask—
a question no number could hold.
Is it the warmth in a morning glance,
or fingers laced when nights grow cold?

Is it stitched in quiet acts—
the coffee brewed before you wake,
the lullaby in whispered words,
the comfort found when hearts ache?

It’s in the listening without reply,
in laughter blooming from nothing at all,
in standing near through storm and still,
in catching you before you fall.

It’s in the gentle brushing of hair,
the note slipped beneath your door,
the holding on through distance long,
the choosing you, and then once more.

It’s in the growing, side by side,
in space that’s safe, yet ever near,
in letting go of fear to trust,
in every soft “I’m here.”

So how many ways to love, you say?
More than stars that grace the night,
more than raindrops ever kissed
the windowpane with morning light.

Count each heartbeat, each breath we take,
each kindness passed from hand to hand—
and still, you’d only touch the edge
of love’s vast, endless strand.
Mar 12 · 274
Unspoken
Maryann I Mar 12
I’m not sure why I feel bad,
but I do.
A shy human,
I fear that my silence will speak louder
than my heart ever could.

I’m not ignoring those who liked,
loved, commented, reposted—
I see you, I do,
but my shyness keeps me
from finding the right words.

I should thank them,
but I’m stuck,
swallowed by my own reluctance.

I’ve been here before,
hesitant to share what’s not perfect,
scared it won’t fit the mold,
so I keep it hidden,
a secret between me and the page.

It’s easier to just press ‘like’,
to let my words stay trapped behind the screen,
than to find the right ones
that feel big enough to match their kindness.

I could message them, privately,
but that feels worse,
more intimate in its awkwardness,
and I’d only wish I could say it better
where they all could see.

So here I am,
apologizing in silence,
for all the gratitude
that never quite makes it out.
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